


Heads Above Water

by rowofstars



Series: Queen and Country [1]
Category: Cobra (2019), Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Anyelle, Boss/Employee Relationship, British Politics, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Sutherelle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-24 01:21:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18159587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowofstars/pseuds/rowofstars
Summary: Another crisis, another long day and night, and Robert Sutherland finds himself alone with his assistant Belle.





	Heads Above Water

**Author's Note:**

> So I guess someone had to the first right? An Anyelle fic for [Bobby’s new project Cobra on Sky TV.](https://deadline.com/2019/03/cobra-sky-robert-carlyle-victoria-hamilton-1202575327/) Details lifted from the article such as Sutherland’s wife and other character names. This is probably awful. Unbeta’d and a hot mess.

The light hit strangely along the table, split by the gap in the blinds and bent like an arrow.

Sutherland leaned forward, his hands braced to either side as the enormity of the day finally settled on his shoulders. He stared blankly at the strips of light cutting across the wood. Between breakfast on Tuesday morning and this moment, over thirty-six hours later, there had been meetings, emergency protocols, two press conferences, and a call from his soon to be ex-wife.

The memories were strange, hazy in that way you know will clear later, that will let you look back, detached and cold, but not relive. The regret that had nestled at the back his throat was familiar. He suspected it would be with him for a while as would the events of this crisis. When he started this job, he knew these sorts of things could, and probably would, happen. He’d watched others lead the country through similar situations, always from a distance, but it was different when he was the one in it. There was no hindsight, no news commentary, just a steady stream of experts and advisors telling you the odds of this or that without any clear direction as to what he should do.

There had been a moment where he was sure he was drowning. He could feel the slow downward pull, the pressure of the darkness below as it threatened to swallow them all. Ultimately, they’d managed to navigate through it, for better or worse. He supposed the front page of the Guardian would tell him which it was tomorrow, not that they would ever have the whole story.

The door to the conference room opened, and Sutherland looked up to see his personal assistant, Belle French peeking through the gap.

"What are you still doing here?" she asked, slipping around the door and letting it close softly behind her. “Where’s Ms. Marshall?”

He straightened and sighed. “Gone home, I hope. At least that’s where I told her to go.”

Her eyes softened and her head tilted as she approached, her gaze studying him. He didn’t know how long she'd been here, if she’d gone home at some point to sleep like some of the others, or toughed out with cat naps on couches like he and Anna had.

“What are _you_ still doing here?”

The way he turned the question back on her made her smile. "Waiting for you, I guess. Making sure you don’t need anything before I go." 

He nodded. “I’m fine. You should get out of here.”

"You first," she replied, dryly.

His eyebrows lifted. There was change in her posture, a hesitation, and then he laughed. She stepped closer and touched his arm, her fingers curling over his white shirt as she grinned up at him. The gesture was casual, but it grounded him in a way he hadn’t felt in hours. He wanted to lean into it, to wrap her hand in his, and savor the simplicity of human contact. 

There was an itch beneath his skin, a restlessness brought on by the ebb and flow of adrenaline. He felt shattered to his core, but sleep seemed an impossible idea. He swallowed and felt the knot of his tie pressing against the column of his throat. His laughter faded, and he licked his lips, looking down at her hand where it still rested on his arm. She didn’t move it, and it felt like a dare.

Belle’s hand slid down from his forearm to his hand, and her lips parted at the first touch of her fingers on his skin. She had been his assistant for only the last year, having replaced the one he brought with him from his time in the Cabinet. The older woman had found the stress and long hours of working in the PM’s office to be more than she could handle, and she left after the first five months. 

Sutherland himself was surprisingly easy to work for, even if the press didn’t like his rather forthright way of answering their questions. They called him gruff and snippy, said he was too aggressive with his language, especially since the divorce. Much of it seemed to Belle to be couched in their distaste for the son of a Glasgow dock worker having reached the heights of power in British politics. He didn’t forget where he was from, and since his opponents were fond of reminding him, he embraced it rather than fought it.

She liked the fast pace of her days, the constant flow of events and meetings, and how nothing was the same even hour to hour. Her years working in libraries and research made her a wiz at organization, and her previous job in the Department for Transport helped her with the general methods by which 10 Downing Street functioned. It didn't fully prepare her for the job, but there was something to say for trial by fire.

Sutherland met her gaze. “Miss French...”

“You did a good job,” she said, giving his hand a light squeeze. “I know Marshall won’t say it, but...you did.”

His throat felt strangely tight, and he managed a thin smile as he nodded. It gave him an odd sense of clarity, a knowledge that all this had impact on real people, most of whom wouldn’t full understand the brush with chaos their country had just survived. 

Belle’s head dipped as his eyes trailed down. She should have gone home already, but leaving after everything that had happened, going out into the world with people riding in taxis, eating pizza, and walking their dogs knowing what she knew, just didn't seem possible. Real life wasn't real life once you knew what went on behind closed government doors. “You’re not alone, you know.”

A shudder swept over him. “I know.”

_Did he though?_

There were things between them, things he had avoided confronting for so many reasons. Belle was his assistant, his employee, but everything with her had been easy right from the first moment. Rachel, despite their ten years together, had never really understood him, but then again, he'd never really made an effort to let her either. In hindsight, it was inevitable that things would end between them, but even though she had filed for divorce eighteen days ago and his ring was sitting in a dish in his bathroom, he was still technically a married man.

It was the wrong moment for this, he thought, but then again, the moment would never been right, not while he was in office. 

Belle felt his hand shake and then slide, pulling out of her grip, and she watched as he turned towards her.

"Thank you."

There was no hitch in his voice. 

Her eyes met his again, dark and unreadable. "For what?"

There was weight in the question, and she felt his hand brush the edge of her jaw. The pad of skin slid over the line of bones, the sensation of his fingers soft and hot. Unconsciously, her hand reached for him, her fingers running along his tie. Her nails caught on the fabric as he leaned in, his mouth pressed over hers. 

Belle stiffened, her shoulders tightening, and he pulled back, watching her.

"I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I - I didn’t - ”

Her hand rose and cupped his face, and he stopped, lips parted. She shouldn't - _they_ shouldn’t - but she pushed up, closer, if only to see if he would move. His hand tensed over hers for a split second before she kissed him.

It was hard and messy, and he made a deep sound against her mouth when her tongue flicked over his lips. She let it slide along the line between them, slipping in and brushing against his teeth, lightly as if to tease him. He growled and his mouth opened wider, deepening the kiss as she shifted to stand between him and the table. She could feel his other hand in her hair, curling deeply into the strands, as the other moved around to her back to pull her to him.

The kiss was furious and selfish, leaving his mind spinning. His mouth stayed hard, fighting her, and she pushed back, letting her teeth sink into his lip and pull at the flesh. Maybe, this is what she wanted when she came to look for him, he didn’t know or care. It was easier not to, to stay in the moment and let it happen.

"Let me sit."

It came suddenly against his mouth, her voice thick and strained. They broke away, panting against each other as his mouth grazed hers. She stared silently at him, her heart pounding against her chest, as her hands reached back, and she pushed herself up to sit on the table. Dipping forward, he dropped his mouth over hers, his hands coming around to tug at her hips, pulling her to the edge. His teeth snagged her lip as she pressed up against him. They stopped for a minute, breaking the kiss long enough for him to shed his suit jacket, and for her to hitch her skirt high on her hips. It was enough to spread her legs and allow him to stand between them, a intentional declaration that shocked him back to reality.

“We shouldn’t.” His lips brushed hers as his palms ran up her thighs, over the bands of her stockings.

Belle leaned back, holding his gaze, and slid her black cardigan down her arms, letting it drop behind her on the table. Then she pulled her camisole out of the band of her skirt, flashing the pale, soft skin of her abdomen. She grinned as he palmed her breasts, squeezing softly before letting his fingers slide down over the silky fabric and underneath.

His breath was ragged as he pushed her shirt up, making more room to touch her. “Are you sure?”

She reached up and drew him down to lick at his mouth, taunting him until he kissed her hard. He could feel her taut nipples through the thin lace of her bra, and ran his knuckles over them, up and down, until she mewed a squeaky yes into his mouth.

"Tell me what you want.”

Sutherland’s voice had dropped, low and rumbling against her neck as he kissed his way down to her shoulder. She shivered, and he slipped a hand up under her skirt, pushing the fabric higher until he reached the elastic of her knickers.

The way he touched her was too gentle, and she whimpered and bit her lip, the strain in her muscles crawling up her neck, prickling her skin. Her eyes met his, and he pulled back, his hand sliding down over her thigh. She moaned again, arching slightly, and he plucked her nipple with his other hand.

Her skin was hot where he touched her, a feverish heat that made his blood thrum in his veins. Anyone could walk in and catch them, see their clothes disheveled, their mouths red from kissing. The thought made the warmth spread faster, thicken in the back of his throat, and his hand returned, slipping up and under her skirt again. 

“Belle,” he whispered, brushing his nose along her cheek and then up to touch a kiss to her temple. “Tell me.”

The sound of his voice wasn’t loud, but her ears were ringing anyway, everything muffled by the rush of her blood and the beat of her heart. His thumb started to rub against her panties, pressing hard and letting the fabric slide against her clit. She was wet and hot, and she knew that he could feel it too, her need and desire.

“You.” The word was forced out of her mouth and she swallowed hard. “I want you.”

Her eyes were hooded as she looked up at him, her lips pressed together. His hand remained between her thighs, pressing just a little harder as her hips lifted. 

“Please.” She shifted towards him, trying to press herself closer. Her nails scraped at his shoulder, digging in through his shirt.

His fingers pushed under her panties, finally touching her, and she gasped as her head fell back and her hand swept out behind her, shoving over a pile of folders. The pressure of his fingers, slipping in and out, urged her hips into rhythm, as his thumb started sliding up and down her clit. She rocked against him, her gasps turning into pants, the pressure building in her core, too fast and too much. Words were tumbling out of her mouth, but she didn’t know what she's saying, and an instant later she came hard, with his fingers twisting and curling inside her, and her hand tugging at his shirt.

She swayed into him, fumbling for his belt as she tingled with the remains of her orgasm. He drew her forward, hand sticky against her leg and pressed his mouth into hers again. His erection was heavy against her thigh, and she reached for him, wriggling her hand inside his trousers to free his cock. She felt him slip between her fingers, velvety and hot, and it made her pussy throb with fresh arousal.

He swore as he pulled away, trousers skimming down to catch on his knees as she wiggled out of her underwear. She reached for him again, and he caught her by the wrist. “I don’t - I don’t have anything.”

“Pill,” she offered quietly, slipping out of his grip and wrapping her hand around his shaft. “If you want. I’m - I’m good.”

She was watching him again, stroking him slowly. His head was spinning, but he understood her words, and the gravity of what she was giving him. He trusted her, with this as much as anything else. Anna would tell him off for it, but she was disinclined to believe anything that didn’t come with a triple checked dosier to support it. Gut feelings weren’t her thing.

“Okay.” Sutherland licked his lips, but they still felt dry, his tongue thick and catching on his teeth. This was madness, he knew that, yet neither of them seemed to be stopping. “Okay.”

Belle's eyes shot open at the first thrust of his cock. She buried her face against his chest to muffle the scream of pleasure erupting in her throat. It was hard and fast and perfect, hitting the right spot every time, and even though her body had barely come down from her first orgasm, another was building quickly. He seemed to sense it, and pushed her back, giving him space to fit his hand between them.

He swore again, cursing breathlessly into her hair as he leaned over her. His thumb managed to find her clit in the mess of skin and clothing and slick juices, and the first flutter of her cunt nearly forced him over the edge. Jaw clenched, he braced his other hand on the table and pulled almost all the way out before pushing back in, lifting her hips just a bit more.

Three more times were enough, she sobbed into his shirt, trailing streaks of makeup across the white fabric. He followed immediately after, feeling the relief down to his bones, and they sagged against each other, breathing in rhythm, until she pushed at him.

“Sorry,” he muttered, face flushed and hot. “ _Shit._ ”

Everything was a mess around them; clothes, papers, a water bottle he'd forgotten was there. It dribbled off the edge of the table and soaked into the Persian rug. He stepped back, stumbling as he pulled up his trousers, and tried not to stare as she slid off the table.

Sutherland ran a hand through his hair and blew out a puff of air. Whatever energy he’d had left was sapped, and he thought about just collapsing here instead of trying to make it back to the private residence. A hand touched his arm, and he nearly startled. Belle was looking up at him, her face inscrutable.

“This -,” he started, frowning. “I, um, I can’t do this.”

"I know," she agreed, with a small smile. “It’s okay. It’s not - anything.”

His eyes narrowed, unsure of what it was he was trying to say or what she was agreeing to. Before he could work it out, she gave his arm a squeeze and turned to go, pausing at the conference room door to say a soft goodnight. He watched her fingers trail over the edge of the door before it closed. After a long moment, he dropped down into a chair and exhaled, his eyes falling shut.

 

 

* * *

 

In the morning, Belle was in his office before eight, carrying a stack of papers in a wide folder and a cup of coffee. Sleep was a fitful proposition at best last night, her skin still humming from his touch. The ambiguity of how they left things had made a knot in her gut, and she didn’t want to leave it up to him to address it.

“Do you have a minute?” she asked, sweeping by the corner of his desk to set the coffee to the left of the blotter. The papers she set to the side, pressing a bright green post-it note to the top, a visual cue they’d worked out that meant read this before you do anything else.

Sutherland glanced up at her and then looked at the thick folder. “Sorry, no. Cabinet’s meeting early today.”

“Right.” She shook her head and smiled, understanding the quick dismissal for what it was. “I forgot. Never mind.”

She breezed out the door before he could say anything more, and he flipped open the folder with a sigh. He wasn’t afraid exactly, not of her going to the press or to Anna, not like that, but he didn’t like how they left things.

Later, he caught Belle on his way back from a meeting. It was after six and she was still trying to sort out tomorrow’s schedule, how to make it so he could be in three places at once without pissing anyone off. 

“Belle…”

She looked up, almost frowning at the way he used her first name instead of the usual Miss French. It made her want to hope for things she couldn’t have. “Yes, sir?”

The formality and distance unnerved him, misplaced next to the memory of her scent on his fingers, and her wet heat around his cock. He could feel her stare, her awareness of him, and he perched on the edge of her desk, reaching out to lay his hand over hers.

“Are we - alright? After -”

“Last night?” she asked, looking up at him. The corner of her mouth curved slightly as he blinked dumbly, and then she nodded. “We’re fine, Mr. Sutherland.”

“Right.” He stood and tugged on the hem of his jacket, crossing to his office door before stopping again. “Did you, uh, need something this morning? I have time now, if you like.”

Belle looked down at her hand, and then met his eyes. There was a softness there that made her feel too warm, and she pressed her nails against the top of her desk. “No. Nothing important.”


End file.
